It Is Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny
by TheCountessAndTheEnglishLord
Summary: 'It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.' William Shakespeare. A collection of moments - morning and nighttime - alternating between Cora and Robert; during the Boer War.
1. Picture

The moon as content as a rose

The whispering wind on her neck

The harmonious lull of the voices in her head

As she looks beyond the horizon

Picture a war scene, shrouded in horror

Picture him cowering, brave yet in terror

Picture a letter, bruised by the burning

Picture a glimmer of hope for his returning

Then picture her from the window so high

Her eyes dull as the colour of grey skies

Picture her weeping; openly, painstaking

Picture her forcing the pen down the page;

Jagged marks shaping her grief

And then picture me this:

Can you imagine, when he reads it: the bliss?


	2. Cruel

As she stares out of the window; bright, burning tears streaming down her face, a deepening feeling of regret settles into her stomach. Regret that she did not say goodbye, not properly. Regret that she did not say 'I love you' one too many times. Regret that she did not tell him the truth. That nothing can be worse than his leaving at this time; her breaking point edging closer. The time when she needs him the most. The time when the absence of his body in the bed beside her is too much to bear. The time when her heart burns when she thinks of that empty seat at dinner time. Turning away, she stares blankly at his side of the bed, ever cooling from his abandonment of her sheets. What has fate planned out for her; that she is to be stuck empty; devoid of all emotion? How can she deserve this?


	3. Memory

The bed is cold and the ground is hard, numbing him to the bone. The starlit sky is shadowed by the dark awning of the tent, and yet he feels that communication between himself and his reason for living that lies inert in a soft bed miles away, his side flattened, not indented by his presence that comforts his wife deeply. A yawning gap awaits him, a gap that separates him and her, with every step he takes. What is to be lying in wait for him when he steps out onto the battle field? What is there to stop him falling into darkness? Only the thought of her. The thought of her that can keep him going through the dirty, shattering days ahead. The thought of her warm body that can lie beside him again once this nightmare is over. Why he ever went up is beyond him, now. Why he ever chose to venture forth, causing her pain and troubles; heaping his duties upon her weakening back.


	4. Weak

Cold. That's the first thing she feels as she stretches her lids open; filtering out the light. The sheets tangle around her in a mass of coolness, reminding her of her loneliness. The warmth of the fire emanates around her like a halo; never touching her yet lingering.

Cold. That's all she feels and thinks as she pulls the bell cord.

Earth-shatteringly loud her blood drums in her ears. Her hair amass of curls; ivory skin growing sallow in the early morning light.

"Would you like me to get you your breakfast, milady?"

She doesn't know why she even called Watson, she's not even hungry.

"Can I get you anything, milady?"

"A different life. A different time."

"We're all by your side, milady, me more than anyone. You can always talk to me, milady."

Her lips creak open, dry and worthless. "Th-thank you..."

Nothing fits. Nothing feels right. At least, without him.


	5. Perfection

The roar of gunfire wakes him; golden light streaming through the gaps in the tent. The first thought he has, inevitably, is Cora. Of how she is waking in the room he has been so used to for so long, alone and cold in the damp gloom of his absence. He knows how much it hurt her to see him go to war but he knows he has a few days leave coming soon, and that thought cheers him out of his dark, helpless reverie. The thought of her soft, ivory skin, malleable and innocent beneath his touch. The thought of her bewitching sparkling blue eyes. The thought of her smile, sweet and seductive; enticing him ever closer. The thought of falling into her arms, desperate to touch and the comfort he derives from that one point of contact. That security he embeds in her every pore. That heartfelt adoration for every atom of her perfect body.


	6. Ink

The skies darken outside the window, a reflection of herself. It's as if she is looking into a mirror, glazed and numb. Nothing can touch her like this inky blackness can, this deepening velvet that folds in on the land like a sheet of paper. Nothing can remind her so much of the pain that she feels. The pain that she feels for his loss. She _knows_ she has to keep going, keep herself busy, but it is so difficult whilst she knows what horrors he is going through, so far away from her. She reaches down, retrieving the letter that she abandoned several moments ago for the reminder of her sadness in the call of the owl. She scans her eyes over it, settling into the rhythm of his voice and penmanship, a comfort washing over her like warm water.

_My beloved Cora, _

_I do hope this finds you well and happy, and that you are not lamenting for my loss every moment of everyday; despite my desperation to be beside you always. I shall not describe to you what has transpired these past months as I do not wish to depress or grieve you, so I shall tell you of how I feel for you. I think of you all the time, my darling one. I think of your soft skin on mine, of your bewitching blue eyes catching my gaze. I think of the way that you press your food between one prong of your fork and the edge of your knife to catch the last fragments. I think of the way you diligently rub lotion into every crack of your smooth hands every night, without fail. I think of the way your fingers linger on my collar. I think of the way that you kiss me, softly and sweetly, and then diving in and astounding me every time; with your confidence and adoration._

_I think of how much I love you. I think about that most of all. I love you, my darling dearest wife, and I hope to see you very soon._

_With great affection,_

_Your Robert_

A single tear slides down her cheek, and drops onto the sheet; a whirlpool of sadness and hope for what is to come.


	7. Wishful

The sound of gunfire has subsided and darkness has collapsed over the land; shrouding and blocking his path back towards the camping ground. Only the faint tint of the gaslight produced by the burning candle that hovers in the midnight sky overhangs his journey towards the tent. Bates walks at his side, respectfully quiet. He knows His Lordship's last thought at night and the first thought in the morning is fully focused on his wife. But what he cannot imagine is the smile that spreads across his companion's face at the prospect of seeing her again. Such a thing is impossible for him; his life in England strained and torturous, Vera not making anything worthwhile looking forward to. The thought of leave terrifies him, the sight of her pale, hard-faced form greeting him off the train filling him with pure dread. He envies Lord Grantham. Glancing across at him, he glimpses the easy and loving relationship he holds with Lady Grantham and a tear slips down his cheek. How lucky to be so in love. How lucky to be fortunate in life.

"You did well today, Bates. Well done."

The appraisal shocks the batman and he looks sharply at his partner. The man, his features lit up by the now starry sky, smiles at him; kind and appreciative.

"Thank you, milord."

He hesitates. Dare he ask the impossible?

"Milord, I wonder if you would allow me to speak out of turn."

"Please."

"What makes - rather, what is it about Lady Grantham that never makes you doubt?"

Robert knows what he means instantly, not taking offence but smiling. "We are easy together. I never doubt her loyalty and I believe she could say the same about me. I love her unquestionably. I would die for her."

Bates has to smile at the perfection of the situation.

"How wonderful. I wish I could say the same."


	8. Empty

Such a pointless, unneeded action. Her eyes flicker beneath the closed lids. So wasted to open them and face his empty space.


	9. Warm

"Cora?"

"Yes, Robert?"

"I love you."

She rolls over and kisses him softly on the mouth, lingering, tender, warmth radiating between them on this perfect day; a day not torn apart by war, on a day long after their desperation for one another almost reached breaking point. On a day when they can kiss, no longer constrained by duty and time.

"I love you, Robert." Four words, perfect on her lips. Love invades his brain.

* * *

**_Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this series, I have had such lovely responses - it means so much to me.  
Now, I know I often say I am going to write something but then I never do, but I promise there will be a multi-chapter coming soon. Promise!  
_**


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